The Number Nine.

"And a house is not a home,
When there's no one there to hold you tight,
And no one there you can kiss good night."

A stitch in time, saves nine.

There are nine major planets in our solar system.

A cat is said to have nine lives.

There is a limit of nine innings in a baseball game.

A human pregnancy approximately lasts nine months.

I have a very small, very perfect number nine, etched into my skin where a bird bit me today.

And this last nine, actually really annoys me for two reasons.
One, because it is on the side of my right hand, at the bottom of my index finger, so that whenever I look down at what I'm typing, or holding - I see it there. 

And two - it makes me wonder. Because this small incision in my skin, this small mark where that bird's beak pierced my hand - it's too perfect to be an accident.

And I know it sounds stupid, and seems like complete superficial nonsense - but I think this symbol might mean something.

Whether it's something to make me remember that I am brave enough to grab two wild Rainbow Lorikeets and throw them out the window in maths class, or whether it's a sign for something about to happen - I don't know. I mean, tomorrow is the ninth - perhaps it means that'll be a good day for me. But whatever it is, the mysteriousness about this mark on my hand really intrigues me. A little too much.

And all this research on the number nine makes me think I know why.

"I have a very small, very perfect number nine, etched into my skin."

I've been having a lot of emotional relapses lately.

The kind where I think I'm over you, then something will happen, and I'll remember a certain memory, and then everything will come back and I will suddenly be the obsessive, young child you constantly accuse me of being. The obsessive, young child that I probably am.

But as of a few days ago, I looked back at those "relapse memories" with a sigh and a smile, rather than a sense of longing.
Kind of like the final acceptance of a deceased childhood pet. I'll remember those times we had, and honour them, but I'll accept that I'll never get them back.

So now, this genuine feeling of finally "getting over you" - well, it feels real. It feels like birds flying. Like hopping back into bed after turning off your nagging, annoying alarm in the morning. Like a compliment on a bad hair day. Like a fresh start.

Like freedom.

I'm beginning to think the number nine on my hand could mean a new beginning.

In many languages, nine and new are similar words. For instance, in Spanish nine and new are nueve and nuevo. In French the word neuf means both nine and new. 

So it could be that. 

Or it could just be a cut in my skin, caused by a frenzied bird.

"So rather than trying to protect you,
I'm going to cover my bases first.
So rather than trying to open my heart,
I'm going to lock it with a key.
So that only the special ones,
Can ever get through to me."

Stay Strong.

 "So I walked under a bus,
I got hit by a train.
Keep falling in love,
Which is kinda the same."

I have this friend.

She is beautiful, she is confident, and she is the strongest person I know.

Of course, I don't mean strong physically with the decked out muscles, but strong in that she never gives up. She keeps on fighting.
She has her ups and downs, but with the amount of shit she goes through - it's amazing that she is able to keep on smiling, and keep making me so happy.

Her best friend was going through a really hard time today, and called her during rehearsals. And my friend, had said this sentence, while trying her hardest to calm her bestie down.
"Please, please, listen to me, we said we would always be in this together."

And what my friend was talking about, was life.

And a little part of me died just then.

Because I wish I had a friend, who I'd sealed some kind of binding promise with, bounding me to stick in there, if not for my sake - for the other person's sake. 

"A kind of, you jump; I jump, sort of thing."

A friendship like that, is something to really admire and respect. A kind of, you jump; I jump, sort of thing. And I know I feel that way about many of my close friends, I just don't think it'd be entirely reciprocated back to me if push came to shove.


Now this friend of mine, is actually a fair bit younger than me. And it makes me think about just how quickly the years below us are growing up.
I mean, when I was fourteen, I was calmly content with cutesy hand holding with that person who I'd called my "boyfriend", and a kiss on the lips was a pretty big deal.
But with my friend - she's facing things so much bigger than I am even now. Some problems very similiar, yet hers always seem to be on a higher magnitude than mine. 
I'm just hoping that by the time she's my age, she'll have worked out some of the shit and it'll all just be a thing of the past.
Because she is such an inspiration to anyone who's ever been depressed. And she's always the first person i go to for those kind of chats. It just helps having someone who "gets you" - you know?


Stick in there my sexy woman. 
I'll always catch you. You know that.

"All these walls are caving in,
I can't stop my suffering.
I hate to show that I've lost control,
'Cause I, I keep going right back
To the one thing that I need to walk away from."

And That's The Truth.

"There’s weight on your mind.
I wanna know,
The truth, 

If this is how you feel.
Say it to me,
If this was ever real."

If there's one thing I hate more than bad grammar, it's dishonesty.

When people lie - straight to your face - not only do you feel like a complete fool for believing them, you feel betrayed. 

Also - just like how I state in nearly every blog - I know that I'm a hypocrite, because I do it too. But we still shouldn't confuse lying with exaggeration. Just because I overreact, doesn't mean I'm constantly lying. It just makes me one hell of a drama queen.

Lying is often borderline on most people's perceptions of right and wrong. But the tough thing is - it's always wrong. Even though it may not be what the person wants to hear, it still doesn't mean it's the right thing to keep it from them. They have the privilege to know, and to understand exactly what's going on. Even if it's "better" for them not to know in the long run. Even if it'll get you in trouble. People might even just appreciate your honesty anyway - and the truth always comes out eventually.

"Lying is often borderline on most people's perceptions of right and wrong."

Recently, I came clean with a good friend of mine. Now - I hadn't technically lied to said friend about the situation - I just hadn't really told the entire truth either. And that wasn't fair. And in no way am I proud of what I'd kept from him - but telling the truth? Well, it actually felt surprisingly good. Like some really heavy weight had been lifted, and I didn't feel so tied back anymore. And I know it hadn't been what either of us had wanted to hear, but we had both agreed that it was nice to know that that was all over and done with.

The worst thing though - about lying - is when you find out you've been lied to after like, three months. By someone you cared about. And sure - I may not have wanted to hear it in the first place, but I still would have liked to know. I mean, we don't always get what we want - and it would have saved me a whole load of effort.

Like when someone tells you that they don't want to go out with you because you're "too young" for them, but then later, you find out that they had never actually liked you in that way in the first place, and had felt they'd needed just some "excuse" to tell you.

Does it make you feel better - giving an excuse like that - making you seem like it was things out of your control that had spun out your decision? Seriously, it would have saved us all so much hassle if you had just told the truth from the beginning.

But you should be proud.

I mean -

You had me fooled.

"You found a million ways to let me down,
So I'm not hurt when you're not around.
I was blind, but now I see.
This is how you feel,
Just say it to me,
If this was ever real."